"Right about what?"
"That eventually, the hunger wins." Simon moved even closer, until their faces were inches apart. "You drank from me once and now you want more. You'll always want more."
Was that true?
Charlie couldn't think.
The scent of Simon—leather and soap and that warm, living smell—flooded his senses. His fangs ached. Every instinct screamed at him to lean forward, to take what was being offered.
"I won't," Charlie whispered.
"Won't you?" Simon's eyes were dark, watching Charlie with an intensity that felt like being dissected. "Your fangs are showing."
Charlie slapped a hand over his mouth.
Simon gave him another long look. "Three weeks you lasted on condiments. One taste of real blood and you're already craving another hit. How long before you stop asking permission?"
The accusation hit like a slap. Charlie's hand dropped from his mouth, anger flaring through the hunger.
"Is that what you want?" His voice came out louder than intended. "For me to attack you? Would that make this easier for you?"
Simon didn't move. Didn't even blink.
"Because then you could stake me with a clear conscience," Charlie continued, the words pouring out. "No more questions about why someone set me up, no more wondering if you're killing an innocent person. Just another monster doing monster things."
Something flickered in Simon's eyes.
"I haven't hurt anyone," Charlie said. "Not in three weeks, not last night when you literally bled in front of me, not now when you're…" He gestured helplessly at their position. "Whatever this is."
"Testing you."
"Torturing me." The admission slipped out before Charlie could stop it.
Simon pulled back slightly but didn't move away entirely. "Torture?"
Charlie wished he could disappear into the floor. "You smell like—" He stopped, shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I won't bite you. I won't bite anyone."
"Even though you want to."
"Wanting isn't the same as doing." Charlie met Simon's gaze, trying to ignore how close they still were. "Humans want things they don't act on all the time. That doesn't make them monsters."
Simon took his time to think. Charlie could hear his heartbeat, still steady, unhurried. Like having a hungry vampire this close meant nothing to him.
"I didn't ask for this," Charlie said. He hadn't asked to become a vampire, or for Simon to track him down and take him back to his apartment. He hadn't even asked for Simon's blood.
All this time all he'd wanted was for everyone to leave him alone.
Why could he never catch a break?
Simon finally stepped back, allowing Charlie some space.
"No," Simon said quietly. "You didn't ask for any of this."
It wasn't agreement exactly, but it wasn't accusation either. Charlie couldn't read Simon's expression. The hunter had too much practice at keeping his thoughts hidden behind that sharp, assessing gaze.
"Most fledglings who get abandoned either die or go feral within days," Simon repeated, moving toward his jacket. "You lasted three weeks on packets of ketchup and pure stubbornness."
"And fainting," Charlie added, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Don't forget the fainting."
